Alabama -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; War stories
Again the girl started and glanced over her shoulder, impressed with
the same tantalizing conviction of a human presence; of some powerful
influence which baffled analysis. Snatching the candle, she put the
gold key in her pocket, and turned to leave the room, but stopped, for
this time an unmistakable sound like the shivering of a glass or the
snapping of a musical string, fell on her strained ears. She could
trace it to no particular spot, and conjectured that perhaps a mouse
had taken up his abode somewhere in the room, and, frightened by her
presence, had run against some of the numerous glass and china
ornaments on the etagere, jostling them until they jingled. Replacing
the book which she had taken from the shelves, and fastening the box
that contained the MSS., she examined the cabinets, found them securely
closed, and then hurried out of the room, locked the door, took the
key, and went to her own apartment with nerves more unsettled than she
felt disposed to confess.
For some time after she laid her head on her pillow, she racked her
brain for an explanation of the singular sensation she had experienced,
and at last, annoyed by her restlessness and silly superstition, she
was just sinking into dreams of Ammon and Serapis, when the fierce
barking of Ali caused her to start up in terror. The dog seemed almost
wild, running frantically to and fro, howling and whining; but finally
the sounds receded, gradually quiet was restored, and Edna fell asleep
soon after the scream of the locomotive and the rumble of the cars told
her that the four o'clock train had just started to Chattanooga.
Modern zoologic science explodes the popular fallacy that chameleons
assume, and reflect at will, the color of the substance on which they
rest or feed; but, with a profound salaam to savants, it is
respectfully submitted that the mental saurian--human
thought--certainly takes its changing hues, day by day, from the books
through which it crawls devouringly.
Is there not ground for plausible doubt that, if the work-bench of
Mezzofanti had not stood just beneath the teacher's window, whence the
ears of the young carpenter were regaled from morning till night with
the rudiments of Latin and Greek, he would never have forsworn planing
for parsing, mastered forty dialects, proved a walking scarlet-capped
polygot, and attained the distinction of an honorary nomination for the
office of interpreter-general at the Tower of Babel?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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